Everyone, without exception, was glad that Hench had returned, for he appeared to be a favourite with all. And not the least pleased to see him was the boy Simon Jedd, commonly called "Bottles." He was a freckled, red-haired, laughing youngster of fifteen, with a wide mouth and a snub nose, not by any manner of means handsome, but genial and cheerful and extremely honest. He helped Amelia with the house-work, ran errands, waited at table, cleaned the boots of the paying guests, and earned his scanty wages by making himself uncommonly useful on all and every occasion. But being a restless youth, and much given at odd moments to reading books of highly-coloured adventure in the form of penny stories, he had a soul above his drudgery, and longed with all his heart to face dangers of the most pronounced kind. Such a lad was bound to have some sort of actual hero to worship and adore. In Hench, Bottles saw exactly the pioneering type, which was his ideal of perfect manhood, and he looked upon the young man as the model of all the virtues which most appealed to him. This being the case, he never could do enough to prove his devotion. No bed was so well made as that of Hench; no room was kept so spotlessly clean, and no boots were so highly polished. Half amused and half touched by this genuine hero-worship, Hench lent the boy books of travel, told him about his adventures in far lands, gave him odd shillings to patronize the local picture palace and music-hall, and generally treated him in a way which made the heart of the boy swell with pride. It was no wonder that Bottles adored him and could never do enough for him. On the morning after his return, Hench found his clothes well brushed, his bath ready, and a cup of tea at his elbow, while Bottles hovered round the room wondering what else he could do to show his rejoicing spirit. In his shabby patched clothes, and wearing an apron of green baize, Bottles grinned respectfully when Hench sat up in bed to drink his tea. He also supplied him with small-beer chronicles concerning events which had taken place in The Home of the Muses during his hero's absence. Hench cared very little for such gossip, but allowed Bottles to prattle on because it pleased the lad. And certainly Master Jedd might have been a detective, so full and clever was his report. In the course of his narrative he arrived at Spruce. Then Hench really did listen, for, simple as he was, he began to wonder if the Nut had given his true reason for this visit to Bethnal Green. "Such a swell as he is, ain't he?" babbled Bottles, who was now slipping links and studs into Hench's shirt. "I never did see a cove come with so many boxes, sir. Must be rich, I think, though he ain't free with his money. Says he knew you at school, sir, he does. True, ain't it?" "Quite true, Bottles!" replied Hench, nodding. "I haven't seen him for eight or more years." "And you don't like him now you do see him, do you, sir?" "Why should you say that?"